Day 1, Post 4.

Dearly beloved, if you're reading this, I want you to know that I find it funny.It's funny how I spent so many days in strange places and uncomfortable weather trying to see ghosts in the fog and tell stories from tombstones, all in the hope I could hone an "artist's eye." I can see more clearly now than I ever have what that is, because I'm staring though it at a dwindling campfire. My artist's eye doesn't illuminate, but I think it could make you laugh. I think it could make me laugh. Even the trail of ants making their way across the floor, carrying leaves over their heads like tiny bodybuilders could be funny with me setting the script. And it wouldn't be a hard script to write. They'd be wonderful little acrobats, strongmen, and who knows what else. Imagine me, and my magnificent insect circus, coming to town, and inside the littlest big top you've ever seen, a bunch of raisins with legs pulling off truly death-defying stunts (ants are so strong it would be easy to make it look right).

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

It's almost funny enough to make me forget that you're not here laughing with me. I can't have known you wrong. I can't accept that I took up a call to adventure that you turned down. I can't accept that you turned it down, so I must have been the only one who got invited to this godforsaken place.

But that little window, floating in the air, said everyone would get the choice, and that we'd all be reunited. And I still have cell data, so I can't have gone far, even if my texts aren't going through. And yes, I am stuck now, posting my thoughts longform on the tail end of an old fanfic I wrote. I just hope I'm not confusing my readers too much.

Or, hell, readers (not that there were ever many of you even before) if you'd like to come find me, I'm sure you can. Just walk through the portal.

It's so frigid out and I feel so warm.

night.